Secrets pattern my skin,
Purple, blue and black.
Starting with cotton candy blooming,
Ending with music locked in sunset.
Each of these secrets are printed with lips,
Scattered over my body like dying paint splatters;
Starting in my head,
Curling across my goose bumps and
Pooling into my toes.
Sometimes I shed my patterns,
Making room to gather more.
The war paint doesn’t stop at the face,
It runs down like fragranced snow,
Soaking my collar through.
My delicate little secrets
Never wash away.